


What's The Third?

by mmeadowlarkk



Category: Grey's Anatomy, Private Practice
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, F/M, Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:08:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28086702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmeadowlarkk/pseuds/mmeadowlarkk
Summary: Addison tries to take responsibility for her choices and control of her life, starting with her marriage- little does she know. | addek endgame. | Set in season 2.
Relationships: Addison Montgomery/Derek Shepherd
Kudos: 8





	What's The Third?

Manhattan, NY. 

“My hands are aging” 

She’s staring at her palms resting on her lap; the pale contrast with her black fitted dress allows her to analyze them meticulously. “I mean, they’re starting to age. I always thought Vivian’s hands were beautiful, when I was her student. They were sharp and boney like mine, but they looked… old.”  
She turns them around, closes them in fist, and opens them again. Turns and twists as if testing their strength. “I thought they meant she had had a hard working life… I’d wonder if my hands would ever age like that. And I’m a surgeon so I do work with my hands. It’s only logical. But I’m 38 and they’d always looked the same.” Aging hands mean history, stories and the sense of tact. Life, in her case. Her hands and a scalpel.

The room is backlit with the glass wall that overlooks Park Avenue; it makes the stone on her left hand shine if she lifts it.  
Of course her hands have not remained the same, the rings weren’t always there. Her entire life is based on them at the moment. If only she’d known. She corrects the thought out loud. “Not the same, but you know. They’re aging” both bands wrap her finger with a heaviness that was new about two months ago. She’s grown accustomed to it, it grounds her. 

“Addison?” She lifts her gaze back to Dr. Myrtle Blake - the most patient of therapists sent by some mystic cosmic miracle that made her notice her discrete sign on the only day she chose to walk all the way down from 98th St. where she had a consult at Mount Sinai onto Yorkville – who is waiting for her to respond. Addison blinks, breathes deeply, holds it for a second and lets out a quiet, tired exhale. She doesn’t reply. 

“Addison, you're deflecting.” Dr. Blake affirms, at the edge of her seat, looking at Addison above her oversized cat-eye glasses. 

She instantly recovers her posture with the intention of looking a little more present. “I’m not. I had thought about it and hadn’t said it out loud” 

“I asked you if you felt like trying”, Dr. Blake speaks with the diction of a children’s language tutor. “And you’re saying you’d rather discuss the symbolism of your hands aging. I don’t mind, it has depth. But it’s not answering my question”

“I know”, it’s not that she doesn’t understand the question. She just hopes that the answer comes by itself and programs her to automatically act on it. She shifts on the leather couch, it reminds her of the furniture she chose for the brownstone she loves and has not set foot on since… well since then. “You know, you and I have similar taste. For interiors, I’d say” 

“Do you want to talk about aging, then?” the middle-aged blonde woman holds a fountain pen against her notepad, ready to develop the subject. 

“Time goes by” Addison is now noticing how Myrtle’s hands show lines, wrinkles. They’re manicured, polished nude nails; she wears a fine golden wedding band and a quartz watch that matches her understated elegance. Why did she end up having a warm, older and chubbier version of Bizzy as her therapist? 

“So does this session.” Myrtle states in hope of focus. Addison looks up again, wishing she could stop losing herself in the torrent that this introspection thing has brought along ever since she started coming, it’s only been three weeks, twice a week, six hours and she can’t stop the pace. At times she wonders if it would have been safer to not know any better, to not want to repair herself, or the damage caused.

Dr. Blake asks again, “Do you feel like trying?”

“Have I told you how he’d look at me?” A wave of nausea invades her whenever Derek shows up in her mind. Which is a constant now. 

“You have.” Safe, she doesn’t have to think about it too much then. 

“I do. I feel like pushing and forcing and putting myself aside. It’s not like I haven’t done it before. I feel like I do. But this isn’t about me or what I want” 

Dr. Blake lays back in her chair, glad that they’re back on track. “Okay. Do you feel like trying?”

“I just said I did. But he’s not…” Dr. Blake raises her voice to speak over Addison’s, “I did not ask you about him or how he feels. You don’t know that. Neither do I.”

“I do”, Addison says with certainty. As true as that might be, Myrtle makes an effort to prevent her from going backward, she’s past this, she knows better.

“This is about you, right now. In this exact place. You and me. And we’re figuring you out. Not him. Not you as a couple. You as an individual. Do you, as an individual, feel like trying?” Dr. Blake insist, this is the testing stage, the one they get to on every session when they are about to reach a progressive conclusion to any subject.

“I do”

“You do what?” 

Addison looks away and raises an eyebrow, never has she ever liked being told what to do, or think, not by anyone. Except Dr. Myrtle Blake, because she’s here with the specific purpose of seeking for guidance, in other words: for being told what to do and what to think. She gives in. In her way. “You just asked me”

“I asked you what?”

“If I feel like trying”

“Like trying what?” Myrtle enjoys this. She knows. 

Addison leans back and crosses her arms, she chooses to look at the clock tick, anything that can distract her and keep her from bursting into tears “Like, trying to face it all.” She purses her lips and decides that she wants this over as soon as possible, so she tries her true best. “Like trying to face it all instead of avoiding it?” 

Dr. Blake takes this in. She nods in approval, smiles with pride “What’s the next step?”

“To… um, to fix things” 

“What things?” Dr. Blake encourages her. 

“Myself I mean”

“No. You’re doing that just now” Half a step back, though at this pace, Dr. Blake accepts it and keeps on leading her toward her way out. Addison is not known for standing by, she 

“The things that are on my end. Whatever concerns me… or him? But that I can do. And fix”

“And so?” Dr. Blake forbears. 

“Seattle” And she suddenly feels cold, she crosses her legs tight, places both her hands on her knee, bracing herself for her own battle. 

“You are going to Seattle” Dear teacher Dr. Blake makes sure Addison is conscious of her remarks. 

“I am going to Seattle”

“Okay, but that’s not the very next step” one last very important detail and she will let her breathe.

“Mark” There it is. 

“You’re talking to Mark” Dr. Blake says matter of factly.

“I’m… leaving Mark” Addison is responding without elaboration. She takes deep breaths, she arches her back and is using her words. She feels adult for the very first time in the past year. 

“You said you were no longer with him” 

“I’m not. I have to talk to him to make it clear that we are not… together. I… I’m sorry, I haven’t really spoken to him since...” Dr. Blake nods, giving her an out and allowing her to skip the story. It was last week’s subject. Mark, the nurse, how she thought she deserved it, the guilt for actually wanting that to happen so she could have a reason beyond her that would push her back to sanity, to what she came looking for three weeks before that, everything that led to actual progress. Then Richard called, and Dr. Blake would love to send him flowers for granting promptitude to Addison’s silent requests on first, finding out where her husband was and second, having to confront him. A month that has lasted a lifetime in the very upset-classy-ginger-neonatal-surgeon’s life.

“Is this the last time I see you? I don’t think this is over. Is this… I… this is just starting. Oh, wow. This is barely starting” Addison adjusts her hair behind her ears in a reflective manner. A glimpse of hope, she feels numb, it still takes a slight ache on her chest to recognize that this is her present, that all she knows is not as it was and will never be. Myrtle smiles tenderly. The first hard part of her job is done. 

“So it is? This is the last time I see you?” Addison insists, in obvious brief denial. 

“You’re leaving the day after tomorrow” Dr. Blake says, as a replacement for an affirmation. 

Addison looks her in the eyes and swallows what feels like a gallon of tears. Nods, then settles her gaze back to the clock that starts to ring. It’s time. 

“Addison,” Dr. Blake leans forward, pushes the golden tissue box toward her patient on the coffee table between them, boundaries. And Addison despises the fact that she feels close to undoing it all, going back to ignoring everyone’s calls and not saying out loud what she feels, she wishes she could blame Myrtle for making her feel abandoned as she goes and does what she knows is right. 

The clock rings again. 

“You can call me. I will not disappear. You still have a lot to face, we’re doing this together.” Dr. Blake reassures her, means every word and wishes she weren’t so sharp with time so that the clock didn’t have to ring and do the job for her. 

Addison grabs her coat and as she stands up, there’s two hefty tears that make their way out and fall somewhere between her folded arms and her hopes. She knows better. Dr. Blake approaches her and hugs her tight. “No, Addison. Don’t hold back. I know you got this.” 

The clock rings again. It breaks them apart and Addison manages to smile gratefully. Places both hands under her eyes to pat her face dry. And then Dr. Blake uses her own words in her favor. 

“You don’t quit.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, fellow addek nation resident.  
> I appreciate you coming to this safe space to try and fix things for our stubborn attendings.  
> I'm slowly migrating my WIPs form f*f . net but since I'm already on it, this story might have a few or a lot of changes in the upcoming chapters. Bear with me.  
> Thank you for stopping by and giving me a chance.  
> Please like and review, I would love to know how you feel about this intro. 
> 
> Happy Tuesday :)


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